The Third Wife of Charles the Foolish
by Dollybelleol'whatserface
Summary: One-shot. Snapshots of Charles living his best life with the wrong woman.


**The Third Wife of Charles the Foolish**

 **Disclaimer: Property of the BBC and Tony Grounds.**

 **Author's Note: I started thinking about where, if anywhere they could go with the World's Most Beige Couple. I'm firmly on Team Molly and there are hundreds of stories on here which deal magnificently with the last series but this is my take on the mundane.**

* * *

Of course, he does the decent thing and asks her to marry him. "Third time lucky," she rasps with a forced chuckle, the morning of their wedding. In contrast to her perfect features, she has the croaky voice of a Salford nanna, who smokes thirty a day. He grins, pressing his phone so hard to his ear, it's going to leave a mark.

"I am. I'm a lucky man," he assures her, frowning down at his left hand, which is once again going to bear a wedding ring; just another thing for him to lose.

"I meant for me," she says quietly, and he can hear the sound of a hair-dryer and female chatter in the background. "You better turn up, Charlie," she warns him and he can tell that she's only half-joking.

"You know I will."

He does, of course.

They get married at Gorton Monastry. There are vintage teacups and flavoured gin for their 50 wedding guests, her Audrey Hepburn-style wedding dress perfectly hides her teeny bump and nobody twigs that she's drinking sparkling elderflower water instead of champagne.

He has Sam as his best man. He is under no illusions that this wedding would still have happened if his true best man had still been alive. Their First Dance is to Lana Del Rey's 'Young and Beautiful,' and he honestly, truly believes that he loves her. What does it matter if both he and Georgie are still having counselling? Or that the ink on his divorce papers from Molly is not yet dry? Or that Georgie is finding it so difficult to find a Section who will take her on as a medic, that she might as well have a decrepit old woman trailing behind her, ringing a bell and shouting, 'SHAME?'

* * *

He is helping Georgie to waddle along the too-bright corridor to the canteen at St. Mary's hospital at 2am.

She has been in labour for hours and she's frustrated, huge and terrified. He presses multiple kisses to her sweaty, beautiful forehead and for one treacherous, heart-wrenching second he admits to himself that _this_ is not how he had envisaged having a second child…this is not the _who_. But he pushes that thought away and rubs her lower back in small circles.

He cries when he cuts the umbilical cord; it's surprisingly spongy. Georgie handles childbirth with her trademark unflappable bravery and baby Amelia James is the most perfect thing he has ever seen. She looks exactly like Georgie, but with his eyes. Georgie sobs happy tears and takes about 20 photos on her phone when Charles shrugs off his shirt and his baby daughter is laid on his bare chest for the first time. She tells him over and over again how happy she is.

* * *

She's still crying six months months later. She is a bony, sleep-deprived shell, who wears a uniform of workout leggings and designer hoodies. She has a permanent glassy look in her eyes and snaps when he tries to talk to her or tries to make her eat. Sometimes, she still cries out for Elvis in her sleep.

He knows she has post-natal depression and keeps ringing her Health Visitor. He's even asked her mum to move in with her but that's about all he can do because he's about to be deployed to Ukraine for three months.

"Hey," he soothes, thumbing away a tear trailing down Georgie's cheek as they stand in the car park at Brize Norton, his breath clouding in the cold air. "I'll be back by Christmas," he smiles, thinking back to a similar conversation from what seemed like an eternity ago, when they'd sat with Georgie's pathetic canteen sandwich between them.

Georgie chuckles and reaches up to fiddle with the collar of his uniform. "I'm not crying coz I'll miss you, Charlie. I'm just jealous," she jokes, her enormous brown eyes making him feel both safe and homesick at the same time.

He bends to kiss Amelia, who is burbling happily at him and then kisses Georgie goodbye, telling her honestly, that he loves her more than his life.

* * *

They are in a God-forsaken freezing, abandoned school with a leaky roof and rats living in the walls. He orders a medic to accompany him to the schoolyard for an exercise, using his formidable Captain's voice but is nonplussed when two medics turn up.

"Whereas I appreciate your enthusiasm, I will only require one of you," he explains, shortly, turning to address the rest of the section.

"It's policy for there to be two, Sir," replies a short, blonde Private.

"It's actually more of a Medics' policy," corrects the second medic, tonelessly. "Sir."

With a jolt of recognition that feels like an electric shock down his spine, he realizes that it is Corporal Jackie Aston. His ex-wife's best friend, chief bridesmaid and secretary of the 'Let's Cut Off Charles' Genitals and Use Them As Dog Toys' club.

He frowns, looking between both women. They're both staring respectfully ahead.

"Pertaining to?" he prompts, feeling like he is definitely missing something.

"Pertaining to the fact that you married your medic, Sir and then cheated on her with a replacement medic, who is now unable to find a post or references, thus putting her career back by at least five years whilst you, as a _male_ Officer in the British Army remain free to continue abusing your position of power. Sir," deadpans Jackie.

He dismisses them both and writes them both up for a Charge, but his palms feel clammy and he is nauseous.

* * *

By the time he gets back home, Amelia is pulling herself up on furniture, and has approximately four curls. Georgie is…the sparkling Glamour Barbie of Manchester he was introduced to years ago. She does her HIIT workouts every day and drinks smoothies made out kale and coconut water or whatever. She seems happy. She's still going to see a counsellor, though.

They're not talking about her going back to work. Why would they do that?

He tries not to feel put out that she was in a state before he was deployed but has obviously been a lot happier without him.

They go to Croatia for their first little family holiday. Amelia has her first ice-cream, (naturally it goes all over her face) and paddle in the sea. She is permanently caked in factor 50-sun cream but it is idyllic and Georgie posts a photo of the three of them on Instagram with the caption; 'We found the cutest water baby at the beach! #beachhairdontcare #daddyslittlegirl #familyofthree

In it, he is topless and holding Amelia, pressing a kiss to her chubby little cheek and Georgie, looking like a Victoria's Secret model, is in a teeny bikini, kissing her other cheek.

It gets 406 'likes.' Whatever the hell that means.

* * *

He spends the third anniversary of Elvis' death with the love of Elvis' life and their daughter. Funny old world, isn't it? He feels over-whelmed with guilt and loss, as he spoons pureed vegetables into Amelia and pleads with whatever God there is or isn't to get the Baby Shark song out of his head.

Georgie isn't coping well but is pretending that she is.

"I miss him _so_ much, Charlie," she sniffs, looking at the ceiling and biting her lip to try and stem the tears.

"I know," he says quietly, pulling her onto his knee and letting her rest her head on his chest. "I do, too. More than I would ever want him to know because I'd never hear the end of it."

She does a funny half-giggle-half cry and he holds her stiffly, because for the first time in a long while he's holding his best mate's fiancée instead of his wife.

"He brought us together," she says simply, her eyelashes all clumped together with tears. "He said if anything good happened, it was him having a word with God and sorting it all out for me."

She reaches up to stroke his cheek. " _You_ were the something good," she tells him, huskily.

He doesn't feel it.

* * *

He finds out that Molly has got engaged to a Sergeant Matthew Geddings; apparently he had been her first ever Corporal.

He doesn't want to think about Molly because it's still too painful. It feels like post-surgery pain, but all over his body.

He is all too aware that their divorce was his fault. That Elvis' death exacerbated his PTSD, which turned him into a stranger, who wanted nothing to do with Molly but was obsessed with keeping Georgie safe.

Molly had left him but he's sure now that she had merely been trying to force him to seek help. When some of The Emptiness had lifted, he had looked around and his marriage was in tatters and he'd destroyed the woman he loved most in the world.

Oh, and Georgie was somehow his girlfriend.

He punches the wall in anger but when Georgie asks him how he did it, he tells her he missed the punch bag in his last PT session.

* * *

Georgie is now training brand-new recruits in Advanced Life Support at Ardwick Green Barracks; something she is phenomenal at but she is in a mood after her first day back at work. Her shoulders are tense and she's stalking around the kitchen like an agitated cat.

"How was it?" he asks her, gently, coming to stand behind her and leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"Oh, delightful," she snaps, sarcastically and shrugs him off.

She walks away from him and fills a pan with water. He sighs, wishing he hadn't asked, but brightens when he hears a familiar high-pitched shriek of, 'DADDY!' and his daughter toddles in on her pudgy little legs and throws herself at him, lifting her arms to be picked up.

"Hello, Sweet Pea," he says in delight, all traces of bad feeling evaporating. "You are quite possibly the best thing I've seen all day," he croons, picking her up and resting her on his hip.

It really is quite astonishing how much she looks like Georgie, except he hopes its going to be a good few years before Amelia looks at him with the same contempt that her mother is currently shooting in his direction. He can almost feel it prickling at the back of his neck.

"Did you have a nice time with Grandma?" he asks her.

"I saw Molly," interrupts Georgie, bluntly.

His stomach jolts horribly at the mention of her name, as it always does and he feels his heart sink. But he stares intently at his daughter and doesn't let his smile falter.

"What happened?" he asks in a sing-song voice, jiggling Amelia, heat colouring his cheeks.

"She just looked at me like she wanted me to drop dead and ignored me," Georgie says, darkly. "So it went as well as I could have hoped for, really," she snorts.

He swallows, feeling very relieved. "Well, at least it's out of the way," he says, awkwardly, finally looking over at her.

She stares back at him with her hands on her hips, unimpressed.

"People have been making snide remarks and comments all day. Even…even the new recruits are smirking!" she says hotly, angry tears springing up in her eyes.

He looks at her helplessly. What does she expect him to say? Does she think he hasn't received the same treatment? Even Fingers is being funny with him.

He reaches out to smooth a wayward curly behind her ear and mercifully, she lets him so he lets his hand trail down to hold her angular chin.

"Rise above it," he advises, softly, kissing her forehead. "You're a fantastic medic and brilliant at your job. They'll get bored, eventually."

But this was apparently entirely the wrong thing to say.

" _Rise above it_?" she hisses, her eyes flickering apologetically towards their daughter, who is happily tapping his face. "Charlie _everyone_ knows we shagged in Bangladesh!" she whispers, furiously.

He feels his blood run cold.

"What?! No. Georgie…they can't!" he gibbers, in alarm.

"Well, they do!" she spits. "Someone must have seen me!"

He doesn't think he's ever seen her look this shaken in a long time.

"Georgie," he says, calmly, talking to her as he used to when he was her Captain. "They can't. I would have lost my job. We would have both been dishonourably discharged."

Georgie snorts, again, though nothing is remotely funny.

"Yeah, so who do you think _begged_ them to keep it quiet and not tell the Brig because she was so worried about what it would do to Sam?" she demands.

There is a heavy silence in their Pinterest-perfect kitchen.

He closes his eyes and presses his thumb and finger into his eye sockets, dejectedly.

* * *

Considering he has been shot in Afghanistan, nearly lost his leg in Belize and has nearly been kidnapped with the regularity of an _X Factor_ contestant crying, the scariest night of his life is when Amelia is admitted to A&E. She's only three and she's had a high temperature all day, she hasn't been drinking, she has been lethargic and Georgie hasn't been able to put her down.

He watches in helpless horror as doctors make two attempts to put a cannula in her tiny hand and start saying letters like, 'LP' and 'CRP.'

Nurses bustle in every hour and attach her to leads and write down numbers, thrusting weak tea and supermarket own brand biscuits at him and Georgie.

He had been in Afghanistan when Sam was born and thankfully he has never been admitted to hospital. He has never felt so terrified and nauseous with worry in his life. He's not particularly religious, but he'll start praying now, if it'll make any difference.

He and Georgie sit on a fold-out bed, uncannily similar to ones they use on tour, watching Amelia's tiny chest rise up and down unusually quickly.

He takes Georgie's hand.

"Hey. She's going to be fine," he tells her. "She's _your_ daughter; she's strong."

The worst thing about it is that he's in full uniform because he's just about to be deployed for another 6 months. He's leaving them both in 2 days and Amelia's lying there like a china doll and Georgie refuses to sleep.

"If you were anyone else, I'd ask you to stay," rasps Georgie, putting her head in her hands and then lolling sideways to rest it against his shoulder.

* * *

There's a distinct possibility that the universe is conspiring against him. He's had the world's worst night's sleep; he kept on waking up in a panic every few hours to check his phone for any news from Georgie; he feels like his entire world is unraveling and he can't bear feeling so useless. He looks and feels like he's just been dug up; the smell of the fried bacon and sausages in the canteen is turning his stomach and unless he's very much mistaken, his ex-wife is walking towards him.

Well, one of them.

It has been more than two years since he has seen her face-to-face, but here she is, hair gleaming under the fluorescent lighting, her massive green eyes glittering in undisguised concern; Molly Dawes Was James.

Despite the years between them and the crying and the yelling…and the new wedding band and the Medic Model wife and the beautiful poorly toddler lying in Oldham's children's ward, his treacherous heart still does a funny flutter at the sight of Molly. Her hair is lighter and she looks less gaunt but other than that she is exactly the same.

Better, actually because her eyes aren't swollen with tears and her face isn't pink and raw from sobbing for hours, like the last time he saw her.

"Charles?"

Of course she still calls him Charles. Only her and his mum are allowed. Were allowed.

He clutches the handle of his coffee mug, which has probably gone cold to steel himself before he allows himself to look her in the eye.

"What's 'appened?" she asks, in concern. "Is it Sam?"

He doesn't know any way to say this without sounding callous.

"Amelia," he croaks. "She's in hospital. They're talking about meningitis," he says tonelessly. "And I'm going to Bulgaria, tomorrow."

Molly's expression doesn't change; her brow is still creased in concern and he has that disarming feeling that she is reading his mind. He wishes she would stop looking at him because her eyes are too kind and it is making his throat hurt.

"Right then, gimme a sec," she says awkwardly, glancing around at the small queue of people at the food hatch, some of whom are unashamedly staring over at them. She disappears, leaving him to try to slow his heart rate, which is pounding in his ears.

When she comes back, she's holding two _Costa_ cups from the machine and that is how he ends up sitting at a formica table unloading everything on his ex-wife.

"What made you come over?" he asks, once he has told her everything and composed himself. Molly has politely looked away to give him some privacy to wipe his eyes.

"Because you looked like shit," she says bluntly, not smiling at him. "Thought you were gonna hit the deck. And it's my job to know when someone needs help. Rumour has it, I'm a top-notch medic," she quips, fiddling with her plastic lid and he recognizes a glimmer of the Molly he used to know.

"I'm grateful, thank you," he says quietly, trying to convey everything with a look. "I don't deserve it."

"No," she agrees bluntly and sighs as she gets to her feet.

"Then why-?"

"Because you weren't always a cheating bastard," she smiles, wryly.

And then she does something awful.

She stands to attention and salutes him goodbye, eyes straight-ahead and unseeing.

"Sir."

* * *

He's unpacking his personal items into his new portakabin of an office, which smells of ammonia and fresh paint when he gets a Whatsapp notification. He slides it open to see a photo of a peaky-looking Amelia tucked up on the sofa under a fleecy blanket with the caption, 'Look who's home!'

His heart lifting in relief, he sits down, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he's been holding. He quickly reads the accompanying text about chest infections and antibiotics and sends back a distinctly non-Captain like string of pink hearts.

' _Good job her mum's a medic! Give her a cuddle from me and get some sleep. Love you both_ XX'

He goes back to his cardboard box, rifling through it for his framed photos; the ones that will sit on his bedside table so that they're the first things he sees when he wakes up. He knows Georgie has slipped in a few pearl-adorned pictures of the three of them, wrapped up beautifully in gilt-edged tissue paper.

He sees a promising-looking ornate frame between some of his crime novels and seizes it hopefully, only to drop it as if it has singed his fingertips when he realizes who is in it.

It's a photo of Elvis, Molly, Sam and himself on his and Molly's wedding day. In it, Molly is giving Sam a piggy-back, clearly not giving two hoots about her posh dress and laughing raucously. Sam has his dress uniform hat on and it is so big that it has slipped right down and is obscuring most of his face; just visible is a gappy smile. Next to her, he is being held bridal-style by Elvis, his ridiculously lanky legs sticking out at an awkward angle and he has Molly's veil perched on his head. His face is screwed up in mirth, as he recoils from Elvis' attempts to kiss him.

Wrong photo.

With a twinge of guilt he realizes that he hasn't laughed like that in a very long time. Georgie is…lovely. She's lovely and he's going to cherish her but she doesn't make him belly-laugh.

' _You laughed more with Molly'_ says a whiny, disloyal voice in his head.

* * *

He has been in Sofia for a few weeks when he gets a Facetime audio call from his mum. Her voice sounds like comforting hugs and home made cheese scones in the school holidays. For a few minutes, it is wonderful to hear from her. This tour has been sapping his morale; it's cold, he's missing his family, his old injuries are aching and he feels distinctly out of touch with the rest of his men. He feels old and past it.

Then his mum shakes the stars from his sky.

"Now, it's all a bit delicate," she begins. "Sam's asking if he can go to Molly's wedding," she tells him, carefully and he can picture her, sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, chewing the inside of her cheek. "She says he can be a Page Boy _if_ and _only_ if he wants to and if it's ok with you. She's dreadfully stressed about the whole thing, the poor darling," she says fondly. "And you know what Sam's like, he worships the ground she walks on."

He doesn't say anything because he feels sick and everything sounds like it's all very far away. The thought of Molly's wedding makes him want to smash things. His own bones, if it would ease some of the numbness in his chest.

The beautiful Georgie from the black and white photo of the pair of them at their engagement party, smiles up at him from his desk and he is unable to look at her.

Two Section run an extra 10K during their grueling PT session the following morning, whilst he uncharacteristically bellows his lungs out at them, and no one is quite sure why.

* * *

Every single muscle in his back and arms are aching; they have been re-building an orphanage for days. He has been hammering and pushing rubble around in a wheelbarrow in the baking sun and he is sunburnt and sore, but he is confident that he and his section are doing a good job. They're actually doing something that is going to make a difference.

He feels like he's finally doing something worthwhile, he's had a shower and they've had an impromptu performance of 'Wonderwall' after their dinner, so he's almost relaxed when his phone vibrates and he sees that Georgie is FaceTiming him.

He presses accept and a small chin comes into focus.

"Where is he?" he hears a familiar raspy Manc accent say excitedly.

"There!"

"There he isssss! Wheeeyyyy!" cheers Georgie, triumphantly. "Say 'Hello Daddy!'

" _Helloo Dadddy_!"

"Lift it up a bit, babes so he can see you."

Georgie's face appears next to Amelia's. He should be used to her beauty by now but she's still striking, even without make up.

"There's my two favourite girls!" he says cheerfully. "How are you both?"

"Miss you!" shrieks Amelia.

"We _are_ missing you," agrees Georgie, kissing Amelia's head, with a loud, 'Mwah!' "But tell Daddy where we've been!"

"Oaks!" she says, obediently, smiling her sunny little smile and making him ache for a cuddle.

"You've been to Cheshire Oaks?" he asks, laughing. "And did you buy the contents of _Build A Bear?_ " he teases, raising his eyebrows at Georgie.

"Nah, but you did buy me a new _Mulberry_ bag," she admits, flashing him her gleaming smile.

" _Did_ I?" he grins with a chuckle.

"Ooh, shall we show Daddy your new t-shirt, Amelia?"

"Let me guess," he says, beaming at the sight of them, their voices filling the silence of his sparse bedroom. "Moana?"

Amelia shakes her head and smiles, as if he's being very silly. A slender, tanned finger obscures the camera for a moment as Georgie takes her phone off her and holds it up high above their heads.

"Can you see, Charlie?"

He can.

Amelia is wearing a pale pink t-shirt with the words, 'Promoted to Big Sister' in sparkly writing.

* * *

"To the gaffer!" the section choruses, raising their bottles of water at him in a toast.

"Yeah, Sir. At least you know that still works, even if your legs don't!" calls Fingers, shouting above the hubbub of shouting and cheering.

He smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the ground in fond exasperation. "Thank. You. Fingers," he says, warningly, leaning his forearms against the scaffolding.

"To our Georgie!" shouts Rab, happily, raising his water bottle high above his head, like a chalice. "Let's hope it looks like her and not you, Boss," he jokes.

They're having a quick water and comfort break; sweat dribbling down everyone's faces in the intense heat. He is standing on his makeshift podium, on the scaffolding of the two-storey dilapidated building that they're renovating for the orphanage, with his section all looking up at him in delight at his news.

"I should bloody hope so," he laughs, joining in and raising his own bottle of tepid water.

"Our Georgie," he toasts, quietly, feeling proud, his mind conjuring up an image of her beaming at him during their First Dance at their wedding.

He doesn't register that the scaffolding has given way beneath him until the blazing blue sky tips forward and ghost suns dance across his vision.

* * *

He's aware of panicked voices shouting somewhere above him. But he feels curiously weightless, like he's floating, even with the pain in his back. His head feels like it is made of marbles and the marbles have spilled out everywhere. He can't move anything. He's lying on something warm…is it sand? Or a bed of some sort? He's been here before, drifting between consciousness and sleep, like a balloon.

He reaches out to catch the ribbon of the balloon because oh, Amelia would love a balloon but someone catches hold of his hand.

" _Stay with me,"_ orders a voice. "You stay with me!" repeats the familiar Cockney voice. But that can't be right because he hasn't heard that voice in a very long time. All he is aware of, is pain and the sensation of his throat feeling like it is closing up, but he wrenches open his eyes to look at her.

"Molly."

"Oi! It's Dawes to you," she corrects him, stubbornly. She reaches down to hold either side of his face, gently.

"Skull fracture," she says, despondently. "And cerebral haemorrhage. You've proper done your nut in, Boss."

He feels himself give a watery smile. She hasn't called him that since their first tour together but then, squinting up at her, he realizes that she is in fact the nineteen-year-old Molly that he fell in love with in Afghanistan. She looks extraordinarily young.

"Molly?"

"Yessir?"

"I'm dying, aren't I?" he asks her, quietly because she has never been able to keep a single emotion from showing across her beautiful face and she looks so distraught.

"I think so," she says, softly, pushing a hand through the curls on his forehead, as she has done so many, many times before. "Otherwise, why else would I be here?"

He sighs because people are grabbing him and lifting him and attaching things to him and he wants to swat them away; he's extremely comfortable lying here, talking to Molly thank you very much.

"You're going to get my death letter, you know," he mutters, feeling like something is being forced into his mouth.

"You _what_ , mate?"

"I never changed it."

"You've got a wife and a _daughter_ ," she reminds him, reprovingly.

"You were my love. And my life," he insists, scrabbling for her hand.

Molly looks down at him, fearfully. "GCS 8!" she shouts over her shoulder. "Come on, Charles, you stay with me, ok?

* * *

He is vaguely aware of the sensation of floating, and something plastic covering his nose and mouth. His eyes are swollen; tubes are coming out of every orifice and his throat feels like it is lined with razor blades but he is aware of low female voices speaking to him, kindly.

"Your wife's here to see you," soothes a friendly nurse, patting his hand, where it's resting on top of his starched bed sheets.

"Molly?" he whimpers.

He knows he has already seen her. She was the last thing he saw. As always. He remembers her eyes twinkling at him as she held his hand.

"Molly?" he says again.

He opens his eyes as much as much as he can to see a devastated-looking Georgie staring at him, mutely.

He closes his eyes, again but Molly does not and will not reappear.


End file.
